Second Time Around
by CountryGirl914
Summary: The infarction was hard enough the first time. HouseCameron. Rating upped for swearing, because I'm paranoid like that.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I'm not sure how I feel about this one, but I just needed to get it finished and out there, you know? I reserve the right to take this down and fiddle with it if I get motivated.

**Feedback:** Gives me warm fuzzies and lets me know how I'm doing. Please review!

* * *

It wasn't fair. 

It was usually House's MO to act like a petulant child, but Wilson felt like taking up the slack, as his friend was otherwise occupied, fighting off waves of pain. Irony must have a nasty sense of humor. Another clot, different leg. They'd caught it earlier than the last one, but this one was bigger and nastier, practically as dangerous as the first. Lightning wasn't supposed to strike in the same place twice. Well, technically it did, and this wasn't the same place, being the other leg, but Wilson wasn't going to let minor details disturb his inner ranting. He suddenly realized what he was thinking and dropped his head to his hands, unsure whether to laugh or cry. He was railing against Mother Nature—this is what being House's friend did to people.

Wilson straightened again and sighed, running a hand over his face and through his hair as he glanced at the man in the hospital bed. It was okay. House would get through this—he was too stubborn to die.

But it still wasn't fair.

* * *

Cuddy stood outside House's room, syringe in hand, fighting off a wave of deja-vu. It had been less than a day since Wilson had rushed into her office, stumbling over his words in his hurry. Telling her of wandering into House's domain on a break, lazily observing the diagnostics team at work. Watching as House rubbed his leg and grimaced, reaching for the Vicodin, such a rote gesture that nobody really paid attention. Until they all seemed to realize as one that it had been his left leg and not right, and House looked at Wilson in horror until the pain intensified and he collapsed to the floor.

It had been another clot, as they'd all already known. Cuddy instantly assigned herself to the case. She may not have been a practicing doctor for years, but she'd been House's doctor, and she'd let him down. She was going to get it right this time.

House insisted on the familiar treatment. Remove the clot and wait it out, chemically inducing a coma if the pain got too intense—"But without any surprises," he added, leveling his gaze at her. Cuddy held his stare for a few moments before looking away. House would get his way this time, even if it sent him to his grave.

The pain returned, and now Cuddy was waiting outside another door, identical snapshots separated by time. She was about to go in and administer the drug when Stacy rushed up to her. "I need to see Greg."

Cuddy drew herself up to her full height. She and Stacy may have been on good terms, but there was no way they were going to agree on this. "He doesn't want to speak to you."

Stacy scoffed, undeterred. "Greg never knows what's good for him. Get James out here—he's Greg's health care proxy now—"

"_No_." Cuddy's voice was soft but firm, and more effective than if she'd shouted. "We do what he wants this time. No going behind his back."

"I saved his life!" Stacy's voice was getting higher. "If we hadn't done the surgery, he could have died!"

"Or he could have pulled through with full use of his leg." Cuddy stated, her voice laced with steel. "But we'll never know what could have happened, will we? He doesn't want to see you, Stacy. _Leave_."

Stacy moved as if to speak again, but the door they were standing in front of opened and Chase and Foreman exited, apologizing as they brushed by the two women. Cuddy glanced at Stacy after the doctors passed, and saw the worry and fear in her expression shift to resignation and reluctant acceptance. "Take care of him," she whispered, then turned and slowly started walking down the hallway, never looking back.

Cuddy watched her leave. "I will," she murmured, then turned and opened the door, stepping back in time once again.

* * *

The overhead lighting in House's room was dimmed, a fruitless attempt to help keep him comfortable. Not even the morphine they gave him was enough to stop the blinding pain, although it had lessened in intensity for the moment. The meager light threw shadows onto the four other people in the room—Wilson, in a chair in the corner, and Chase, Cameron, and Foreman around his bed. Chase and Foreman were expressing their confidence that House would be on his feet and browbeating them again before they knew it. They were the first expressions of kindness and good will that House had received from someone besides Wilson for a long time. As much as House liked to think he was impenetrable, it helped somehow to know that the others were thinking of him, and he mumbled his thanks as they left. Cameron was still in the room, and his gaze went to her as she came closer to the bed.

Cameron's heart lodged in her throat as she took in the pale, exhausted man lying in front of her. House wasn't supposed to look like this. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that Wilson was still in the room, but it didn't matter. Everything but House faded into the hum of the hospital. She cleared her throat, hoping her voice wouldn't tremble when she spoke. "I'm having an odd sense of deja-vu, and I don't like it. I don't want to go through this again."

House frowned. "You weren't here last time."

Softly. "That's not what I meant."

Oh. House wasn't sure how he felt about that. He hoped he had the chance to decide.

"Don't know why I'm worried, though. It's like Wilson said—you're too stubborn to die." Cameron gave him a shaky smile, valiantly trying to keep the mask of calm in place. She could fall apart later.

There was a noise at the door, and then Cuddy was by House's side, reaching for his IV. "This won't take long, but then, you know the drill," she stated, giving him the drug. "See you on the other side."

"Not if I have to make up my clinic hours," House muttered. Cuddy dropped her head, a sad smile on her lips. "Of course not."

"Cuddy." House's voice caused her to look up again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Cuddy said, voice thick, eyes bright. And then she turned and left the room, the click of her heels echoing behind her. Cameron pulled up a chair, then sat down and took his hand.

"You can't stay here the entire time, you know. There are rules, and work." House's voice was already slurring.

Cameron leaned forward. "We'll make it a game. See if you can catch me out of the room when you wake up."

When, not if. House could sense the promise beneath the words. He squeezed her hand, the warmth from it seeping up his arm. "Thank you," he mumbled, looking at her until his eyes finally slid shut.

And when House woke up, Cameron was holding his hand.

* * *

Fini 


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** _Finally_ got the second part of this thing pounded out. Apparently spring break does wonders for writer's block. Although I'm sure that the fact that I'm not getting my ass handed to me by my classes at the moment is helpful as well.

Major props to **Vartanluvva**, who didn't kill me for taking so long to finish this and loved it when I sent it to her. huggles

**Feedback:** Is the ultimate ego booster—please review!

* * *

Chase and Foreman had been right about House being back before they knew it, but they weren't happy about it. He had gotten through the induced coma without any complications, and after a bout of physical therapy there were no lasting effects from his second infarction. Any other person would be thrilled with their good luck, but not House. To him, it only proved that his treatment would have worked the first time, if Stacy hadn't interfered. It was proof that full mobility had been stolen from him, and he became more bitter and cruel than ever before, lashing out at patients and other doctors alike. Even Wilson was feeling the strain. The only one unperturbed was Cameron. All his barbs simply rolled off of her—she seemed to understand that it was redirected anger, nothing more. 

Cameron and House. It was a situation Wilson was having trouble wrapping his mind around. Cameron had been glued to House's side ever since he had awoken from the coma—driving him to and from work and physical therapy, and even making sure he ate decently. Wilson knew this because, of the four times the oncologist had gone to visit his friend after the infarction, Cameron had been there for three of them. The first time she opened the door, Wilson had stuttered and left in an embarrassed rush. He stayed the second time, but felt awkward the entire night. The third time he brought extra takeout, just in case, and it was like old times plus one—albeit with Cameron forcing House to actually eat the vegetables in his Chinese and limiting him to two beers. The one night Wilson found House alone he had asked him about the situation, but House had given him a Look of Death and quickly changed the subject. Wilson didn't push—while everyone else was amazed at the routine they had fallen into, it was probably the only thing that had kept House from falling apart.

* * *

Cameron was in House's kitchen, stirring a pot of soup on the stove, while House sat at the table, preparing a salad and watching his Tivo'd General Hospital at the same time. He'd been back at work for over a month, and things weren't getting any better. Cuddy had even stopped Cameron in the hall, quietly informing the immunologist of the latest complaint against House and begging her to talk to the man. While Cuddy didn't want to take action, soon she wouldn't have any choice.

Cameron set down her spoon and finally spoke. "So, Cuddy talked to me today."

House looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Was she trying to get you into a threesome? She's been coming after me for months—knew it was only a matter of time before she started harassing you."

The corner of her mouth quirked upward. "We'd have to actually be having sex before we could have a threesome."

House turned toward her this time, raising an impressed eyebrow. "Touché."

Cameron nodded her head at the compliment, then quickly went back to business. "Seriously, though, House—you've had four complaints lodged against you this week. If it gets any worse, she's going to have to suspend you."

House just scoffed. "She's used that threat before and never followed through. I'm not worried."

"Everyone else is, House!" Cameron replied. "And I'm sure you've never been this bad before—you're going off on patients and doctors alike…you made a little girl cry the other day! Even Wilson's starting to shy away from you—"

"Too bad!" House exploded, turning his glare fully towards her. "I'm a little pissed off at the moment, and the last thing on my mind is if I've hurt _poor little Wilson's_ feelings—or anyone else's! After all I've gone through, you'd think I'd have the right to—"

Cameron interrupted, no longer cowed by House's tirades. "The _right_? You have the _right_ to act like an _ass_ to everyone you come in contact with? Oh, yeah, that's right—Stacy _stole_ the use of your leg." The sarcasm dripped from her voice. "I've never known you to be such an optimist, House."

House stood up at this, crossing his arms across his chest and facing her. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Cameron was on a roll now, hands gesturing in front of her. "You're assuming that since the procedure worked this time, it would have worked last time if Stacy hadn't gone against your wishes. That's a best case scenario if I've ever heard one. At the hospital you look at every angle, but when it comes to yourself you throw all that out the window. Have you even _considered_ the other possibilities? Considered how much medicine and technology has advanced since your first infarction, and the fact that even though it would have been the same procedure, it probably wouldn't have had the same outcome?"

House tried to interrupt her, but Cameron would have none of that. "Let's look at some other scenarios, why don't we? Let's say Stacy never heard about the middle option, and had your leg amputated instead. You'd have to use a prosthesis, but you'd have nowhere _near_ the amount of pain you do today. Or maybe something goes wrong when they remove the clot, and you die on the table—or they can't bring you back when you go into cardiac arrest. Or maybe she does follow your wishes, and puts you in the coma, and you come out fine. But maybe you don't. Maybe there are too many toxins in your system, and you make Stacy _watch you die_ without there being a damn thing she can do about it! Would you really have wanted to put her through that?"

Cameron finally finished, breathing heavily, and watched House's expression shift to one of horror and realization as her words sunk in. He grabbed the back of the chair and slowly lowered himself back into it, as if his legs couldn't hold him up anymore. There was silence for a few moments as House sat hunched over, staring at his hands, palms up between his legs, elbows resting on his thighs. Then Cameron crossed the short distance and knelt before him, placing her hands on his knees and looking up at him. "Yes, things could have gone much better the first time," she said softly, "but they could have gone much, much worse. And no matter what, House, you can't know what could have happened—and you can't change it. You can't live your life in the past, in 'what-if's'. Focus on what you _do_ know: you went through the worst event in your life for a second time—and came out unscathed. You not only got a second chance, you got a _third_ chance. Most people would be jumping for joy. Now, I know you'll never act like that, but do you think you could _let go_ of this anger you've been carrying around for the past few months, for all of our sakes—and yours?"

House let out a deep, exhausted sigh and leaned his head back until he was looking at the ceiling. "I can try."

"Good." Cameron reached for his hands and squeezed them. "That's all I'm asking."

He looked down at her again, blue eyes stormy, and whispered, "What are you even _doing_ here, Allison?"

Her heart twisted at the broken expression on his face, the question behind the question echoing through her mind—_Why are you wasting your time with me?_

"No. Don't do that to yourself, House—_Greg_." She reached up and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. "I'm here because I _want_ to be. I told you in the hospital that this was like deja-vu and that I was afraid of going through it all again—but I _did_. And I would do it a million times over again if I had to. Nobody's forcing me to do anything—never forget that, okay?"

The nod of his head was minute, but Cameron caught it, and she smiled as she stood up. "Good. I'm going to go make sure the soup doesn't boil over," she said, trailing a hand over his shoulder as she walked back to the kitchen. She watched House intently, noting when he finally sat up straighter, squared his shoulders, and went back to the salad. It was then that she spoke. "Oh, and House?"

She waited until he turned to her. "Cuddy's going to have to find someone else. When we _do_ start having sex, I want you all to myself."

House gaped at her for a moment, eyes and mouth wide O's of astonishment. Then he pulled himself together and grinned at her, something none of them had seen for months. "You sound quite sure of yourself."

"Oh, I am." She grinned cheekily back at him, then turned back to the soup. He did the same with the salad, chuckling to himself.

It may have taken a while, but the second time around he was going to be fine.

* * *

END 


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